Baji Chiew, a toasting liquid for the qi qong exercises of engulfment
For fathers that lose lifetime lovers over and again
For warriors with 120 that made textbooks out of bound fingers and limbs of linguistics
For the exiled journalists that prophesied the doom of pop A-sides
And for them brothers whose babies are named in supreme symbols like the Moon that reflects the Sun supremely or the Soul that holds song strong
Now that Tigerbone’s a terror,
That sauce that ties the dale back to the 85ers that ran
Vaya! Escuchalo en espanol
The MCs that transmute violence into righteousness
Get money, teach babies
Get babies, leave em your money
Teach money grip, babies greatness never’ll dip
No money, teach babies
any damned way
Pass me a baji sip, my brothers
whiles out there performing a heist,
building songs of aura
Where corona met chrome already working
Heist Life, How we Eat In Struggling Times. Word? Word is bond. Let me tell you about the integrity meals they prepare. At that little school on the corner of 126 street in Harlem, New York City, where I got stats like being the one to hold class over 20 years now, I seen a lot. Savagery in segments, longings for easy ruthlessness blossoming into loved principles and too many rappers pretending to be learners. See, you learn this knowledge of self on the sly, sciences that could compute suffering and calculate supremacy instead just turn to dialect bedazzlers for prop starved records. Nigga might sound good now but still a nigga fooled himself into being the snake on the grafted tape. But I met a brother named Ty, stylistically refined, slangularly powerful, he had the fiery dialect in the effortless naturalness. Still, his humility was at its most extreme. He told me what he learned and that he only wanted to learn. The setup for a teacher’s greatest honor. Until I built with his A-Alike of already insurmountable works of vibes, Sauce Heist, on my Power Write Show podcast did I put it all together. They never promoted themselves, never said they are going to be (and they certainly are now) two of the brightest Suns of this era that started as the #InvisibleRenaissance in the 2010s. You can’t buy that integrity but when you’re ill enough you can record it on wax.
Slogans (“Heist Life, the nice life”), effects (“doodoodoodooo…”) and a poetic flair for opening settings, Sauce and Ty make records that define the street struggle and the humanity that still is left in young men that have had to survive leaving pieces of it in every piece’s firing. Peace, the word to play because they are in a wonderful continuum from Raekwon and Ghostface’s linx intentions as they are actually getting that knowledge of self. Actual crooks who stood on the corner that will win cause if there’s a key they have to cope after the booth sessions don’t pan out, listeners had the keys to a different understanding. Unraveled, the acumen of these MCs is in technical gifts of perfect syncopation from the syllably exquisite dive ins by Sauce, “Blood mark the oath toasts over large envelopes…” and then Ty, “God in the flesh, pardon the cuts, still parting the Dutch….” on “V.A II (Veggie & Acid 2).” The ole soul snapshot hells in simile graphics, Ty drops through “Tigerbone Vibes_HA” (“my last case they tried to give me life…OT with the thuggers and robbers, disciples that jack the six like they studied kabbala…” to the documentary details with sharp commentary Sauce rolls through “Equality Wiz” (“brothers was fathers, got a fill in the footprints bass left the cook since the God Cipher Divine (GOD) lessons…”). They take us through trials of trauma (“Uptown Flava”) even as they declare their illness is all for a better future by “being the message” (“GMTB (Get Money Teach Babies)”) making their work a score for the savage succumbing to his deeper senses and the warrior warring with words of wisdom.
And so they get money, teach babies. All while the lullabies are the crates crafted that wake we wailing. And Spanish Ran knows what he’s doing. A young master of setting the vibe, his simplicity of illness is a gift. The right bass boom thump slow smash the tempo on “Tunnel Musik” letting the rolling keys and winding whistle makes its visits. “GMTB” lets out the Soul crate just roll out on the needle, clipping in wails and surrounding Sauce and Ty’s vocl spaces with gorgeous harmonizing. Then there are the setups like “V.A II (Veggie & Acid 2)” with the baritoning doom being slashed by that fresh one, two break with thickening snares and distant high hats. Spanish Ran keeps that other brickhouse open transporting a sparse break with break, snare and high hat all separated around a looped piano riff on “Apt 614.” Spanish Ran is slowing revealing the depth of his crates, the subtle differences (and the special pop) needed in the drums and, most importantly, capturing the–well, you know–the vibes of the MCs themselves. As Spanish Ran did with Sauce’s Spanish Sauce LP he succeeds here.
The Gods Sauce Heist and Ty Dale truly are truly soul’d stylistic pair of MCs with the cooled cadence, distinct word choices, ghetto grammaticals and warrior righteous aura. All with a treasured NYC bounce that booms like the ghost of PUN jumping rope at 5 Percenter Square.
The organization of these principles around a counterculture, an expressive arts of creation that uplifts the ideas and thoughts of an oppressed people, is why I’m an honored builder amongst legends, knighted by heroes of Medina (Rakim Supreme Shabazz Allah/Rudy Lo, Thirstin Howl the 3rd, Bonz Malone) to further create in my element as a Hip Hop Writer (creative author/principled journalist/honoring historian) of #ArtOnArt & #ScienceOnMusic. So the world may find love that locks in with the action of loyalty though they may never find another writer with my kind of grammar…
Living and sharing the pillars of:
Peace, Sunez Allah